


Cross Stitch Practice

by Lunacynn



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunacynn/pseuds/Lunacynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Miss Carter, while I do enjoy practicing my cross stitch, I would rather you take better care of your appendages," we look at each other and I smile, "I take care of my appendages just fine, thank you. Besides, I rather like having my own personal doctor." He looks down immediately, almost like he forgot he was even working on me, a blush spreading throughout his features.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross Stitch Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Haha so many problems with shipping this ship. I haven't written in such a long time, but after watching that scene with them and the hand, I got the idea for this little one-shot and couldn't get it out until I wrote it down. Not entirely sure I'm satisfied with the end product, but here it is this short little ficlet!

"Your line of work requires support. People who care about your well being, who'll be there to stitch up your wounds."

As I tell him that my line of work can be dangerous, I can feel his hand rest on my knee as he continues trying to knock some sense into me – albeit only working _slightly_. The pain radiating from my knee subsides as I focus on the warmth his gentle hand brings. My eyes drift from his face down to said knee, allowing myself to show some resignation on the discussion. He follows my gaze and I regret even looking; the warmth quickly fading upon his retraction and the sight of his wedding band taunting me.

I got even angrier that I felt that way, even if it was just for a second. Feeling his hand on me was anything but crude, however, and no matter how much I want to deny it, I quickly remember my own unconscious touch upon someone else and how subconsciously it was laced with lewd thoughts. He's still looking at my knee and I'm now looking back at him, trying to read his face. It looked as if he was chiding himself for it and at this I look away, admonishing the fact that I'm upset at the absence of his touch.

His words remind me of Steve, which then remind me of things that were and will not be and how Steve brought this warmth upon me that felt secure and comforting. Unlike the warmth Jarvis just gave me – a yearning for _more_.

"As you were." Anything to try and get myself to stop these thoughts, because I doubt I'll stop needing someone to stitch me up, and out of everyone I trust, he is doing some of the best stitching I've seen.

 

* * *

 

Throughout the past week I've been letting him help me more, drive me to locations more often and heeding his warnings about a situation. He's quickly proven to be both nice company and a formidable partner. My new curfew has been allowing him to return home to his preferred time, except for tonight. Luckily the bullet only just grazed me, as opposed to lodging itself into my upper arm, but deep enough to render the need for stitches again. I had just finished limping, now I have to come up with an excuse as to why the full range of motion in my right arm was limited.

We are back at the very quiet, very lonely Stark penthouse well past my curfew and I only hope that Ms. Fry doesn't find out I haven't checked back home. He leads me to the kitchen this time and asks me to sit at a small table near the sink, when I do I notice the terrible shape my trousers are in and that my blouse is beyond repair. I really liked this blouse, too. I remind myself that it doesn't matter, I'm not trying to impress anyone. And then without thinking I look up at him, his back facing me as he stands at the sink in front of me. It only just dawned on me how tall he is, compared to me especially, and how his hair is still in perfect shape despite tonight's events.

"Miss Carter?" he turns around with a soaked wash cloth in hand, "I need to tend to the wound..." he's standing on my right side now, looking down at my bloodied blouse, "... I'll need you to.. expose the arm for me." He was choosing his words carefully, which made me smile ever so slightly. I nodded and unbuttoned my blouse a few buttons to allow for my arm to be brought up and out through the collar. I look up at him a little and I notice his eyes are now fixed on the way my clavicle and arm are exposed. I realized it would've caused me far less pain had I just taken off the shirt entirely. The inner Ms. Fry in me must've told my body to act accordingly, I suppose.

With my arm now exposed, he promptly starts washing away the drying blood. He takes care to be gentle, taking his time cleaning my arm. I feel that warmth again, spreading from my arm to the rest of my body and I become hyper aware of his touches. It seems like a long time has passed before he speaks and it snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Miss Carter, while I do enjoy practicing my cross stitch, I would rather you take better care of your appendages," we look at each other and I smile, "I take care of my appendages just fine, thank you. Besides, I rather like having my own personal doctor." He looks down immediately, almost like he forgot he was even working on me, a blush spreading throughout his features. I barely feel him working his perfect stitching, holding back any flinches. The work he did on my leg left such a faint scar, I'm glad he was working on my arm.

He's about finished and cleans up around the wound of some escaped blood, the pain now just a throbbing sensation muddying up the feeling in my entire arm. But I do feel it when he traces his hand down the rest of my bare arm, coming to a stop at my hand. He rests his on top and it feels like a hot compress heating my hand up to an absurd level. We're both looking at each other and I notice he's trying to formulate some sort of sentence in his head, his brows furrowing and all I can manage myself is to blankly stare at him. His face isn't all too far from mine, having had been close enough to my wound. I hadn't realized how close until I breathe in and am smelling his cologne.

Unconsciously my lips part as I look at his and just as I look back up at his eyes, I see him looking at my own. I try and focus on the pain in my arm to ground me, but all I feel is one of his hands on mine and his other now cupping my face. I close my eyes, archiving the feeling, and had I actually been using my brain I would've realized that was probably a mistake. He leans down to close the gap between us and now I feel his lips on mine; it's a quick kiss and I barely have time to process it when we're kissing again. This time more fervently and I find myself leaning up to him, trying to gain a better angle. His hand tugs mine and I stand up and he takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around my waist and the hand that is cupping my face moves down to my neck.

A moan escapes as he bites my lower lip and I feel his hand leave my waist and his lips detach from mine. He backs away until his back hits the sink and he's looking at the floor, "My deepest apologies, Miss Carter. I don't know what came over me, I assure you this will never happe-" I clear my throat and his head snaps up to meet my eyes, "It's alright, Mister Jarvis," I quickly put my arm back into my blouse, wincing at the pain and button up. "I think you can go home, now. I'm sorry for keeping you." He looks pained, I probably looked pained, too, but he doesn't move. I want to move, to head to the master bedroom and pretend I hadn't just enjoyed that kiss, but my legs don't move.

"Miss Carter,..." He starts to walk to me, closing the space in seconds. He leans down and I look up at him, and our noses are barely touching. His hand comes up to my cheek and his thumb gently caresses it. My head instinctively leans into it, indulging myself yet again of the warmth he brings. His lips come dangerously close to mine again, " **You** are not keeping me. I am choosing to keep myself here," and the warmth turns into a fire as he kisses me again and I can't help but throw my arms around his neck, completely forgetting that my right arm needs to be treated gently.

The rest of the night, however, Jarvis is far better at remembering to be gentle with my arm.


End file.
